


contentment

by jehans



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that he needs taking care of.</p><p>But sometimes it’s nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	contentment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mybelovedcheshire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/gifts).



“But, no, that’s not how it _works!_ ”

“Well, that’s how it _should_ work,” Courfeyrac counters with an exasperatingly endearing grin on his face.

Combeferre sighs mightily, trying to show just _how annoying_ Courfeyrac is being, but then Courfeyrac is leaning forward, still grinning, and curling his fingers around Combeferre’s soft pajama shirt, pulling him gently forward until their noses brush, then just holding them there like that until Combeferre’s breath hitches and he finally presses their lips together.

To be honest, it still comes as sort of a shock when he does this. A nice one.

“Are either of you coming to bed soon?” a light, somewhat annoyed voice interrupts them, and Courfeyrac releases Combeferre to grin at a sleepy, rumpled Jehan instead.

“Soon, love,” he promises.

Jehan frowns under his mass of tangled curls. “You know I can’t sleep alone.”

“Five minutes,” Combeferre says, and Jehan nods and turns to shuffle back into the bedroom.

It’s an odd arrangement, Combeferre admits, but one he’s grown rather fond of. The original idea had shocked him a bit, to be sure. Partly because he hadn’t seen it coming, a concept Combeferre is not particularly used to. But he’d been alone for a while — Enjolras occupied with trying to really make his relationship with Grantaire work, which was completely understandable and Combeferre was entirely supportive of his choice, but it did mean that Combeferre was left alone with no one to take care of him.

Not that he needs taking care of.

But sometimes it’s nice.

And so anyway, when Courfeyrac and Jehan — resident Cutest Couple, yes, but also two of his very closest, dearest friends — had invited him to their apartment for dinner and game night, he’d been rather. . .well, relieved.

It was lovely, a real treat, and for a few hours, Combeferre hadn’t felt so alone. But the night wore on, and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He was getting ready to thank them for a lovely evening and wish them both a good night when they invited him into their bed (with a rather blunt, “Would like to sleep with us?” from Jehan and a warm, genuine smile from Courfeyrac).

He’d almost said no, but he’d been so _lonely_ , and all they really wanted was to show him how much they both loved him. So he’d been bold and said yes, thank you, and let them both lead him into their bedroom and strip off his clothes, lay warm, encouraging kisses into his skin — and each other’s — and make love to him like it was natural.

It had been comforting, and he’d enjoyed it. But he’d been sure, as Jehan kissed his cheek and reached over him to take Courfeyrac’s hand in sleep, that this was it. That any more and he’d be intruding into their lives — their happy couple life where they sat in each other’s laps and whispered poetry and sappy movie lines to each other and giggled secretively and all the things Combeferre really had no interest in joining them in. But then they’d asked him again. And then again. And then Jehan had sat in _his_ lap and argued the politics of Roman mythology while Courfeyrac had made them all dinner, and he just hasn’t left since then.

Courfeyrac pokes at Combeferre’s knee. “Can we figure it out tomorrow?” he asks. “Our poet is calling for us.”

 _Our_. Our poet. It doesn’t feel quite real to Combeferre. It feels like a loan. Like he’s borrowing time with these two as his own.

But he doesn’t mind, really.

That’s all right with him.

He smiles. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he sighs. “But we _are_ going to figure it out.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Courfeyrac laughs, then takes Combeferre’s hand to lead him to the bedroom.

Courfeyrac kisses Combeferre goodbye, now. Which is something that Combeferre still feels intrusive on. Jehan has been readily kissing him since they started this whole thing, but Jehan will kiss anyone. And it’s not that Courfeyrac doesn’t, but when he does, it means something more. And he’s taken to kissing Combeferre whenever one of them leaves, and not just in moments of affection. Combeferre likes that.

And he’s not as physically affectionate as the two of them, and he sometimes feels more like a parent to them both than their lover, and sometimes he worries very much that he’s merely a third wheel they tolerate. But when that happens, Courfeyrac does that thing where he somehow climbs behind you into the chair you’re sitting in and curls around you, laying gentle kisses into your neck, and Combeferre can’t feel so alone anymore when he does that.

Jehan is in bed when the two of them enter and sleepily raises his arms to the both of them. He likes to sleep in the middle, so they climb in on either side of him, Courfeyrac leaning forward to kiss his poet in that true, tender way that only someone deeply in love can — the way Combeferre cannot.

But Jehan doesn’t seem to mind when he turns his head to lazily draw Combeferre down for a kiss as well. His lips are warm with sleep and Combeferre smiles as the littlest of them shifts and turns until his legs are tangled with Courfeyrac’s and his head is resting on Combeferre’s stomach, his hands reaching out to entwine with someone’s.

Courfeyrac hums happily and sighs as he reaches to turn the light off. Jehan wiggles a little to settle in. Combeferre smiles again as Courfeyrac’s hand slips affectionately through his hair.

Combeferre suspects that someday this will all fall apart. Actually, he’s certain that someday, he will leave. Because he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way the others seem to, and while he very much enjoys when Jehan’s fingers twine through his, or when Courfeyrac’s nose brushes his cheekbone, or the very different way both of their kisses taste, he also knows that someday, these two boys he’s tangled in — for all their wildness and big, daring love — are going to settle like dust, and they’re going to settle around one another, and they’re probably going to get married. And he, Combeferre, will not. And he’ll content with that, when it comes someday. But for now, with Jehan’s head on his stomach and Courfeyrac’s nose buried in his hair and someone’s fingers threaded through his — well for now, he’s pretty content with this.


End file.
